down the corridor. Our friend and his family did not come back. A waiter passed in the corridor with our sandwiches and the bottle of Chablis, and we called him in.
"You're going to work to-day," I said.
He nodded his head. "They start now, at ten-thirty."
"When do we eat?"
"Huh! When do I eat?"
He left two glasses for the bottle, and we paid him for the sandwiches and tipped him.
"I'll get the plates," he said, "or bring them with you."
We ate the sandwiches and drank the Chablis and watched the country out of the window. The grain was just beginning to ripen and the fields were full of poppies. The pastureland was green, and there were fine trees, and sometimes big rivers and chateaux off in the trees.
At Tours we got off and bought another bottle of wine, and when we got back in the compartment the gentleman from Montana and his wife and his son, Hubert, were sitting comfortably.
"Is there good swimming in Biarritz?" asked Hubert.
"That boy's just crazy till he can get in the water," his mother said. "It's pretty hard on youngsters travelling."
"There's good swimming," I said. "But it's dangerous when it's rough."
"Did you get a meal?" Bill asked.
"We sure did. We set right there when they started to come in, and they must have just thought we were in the party. One of the waiters said something to us in French, and then they just sent three of them back."
"They thought we were snappers, all right," the man said. "It certainly shows you the power of the Catholic Church. It's a pity you boys ain't Catholics. You could get a meal, then, all right."
"I am," I said. "That's what makes me so sore."
